Life Happens: Run (away) for the roses

Two months from now, I’m going to be sipping mint juleps, fanning myself with my fancy hat and watching Zulu run for the roses.

In person. All by myself.

I can’t wait.

I was 10 years old and already horse-crazy when I watched Secretariat power-slam his way to a Triple Crown. While my friends were lining their walls with photos of Leif Garrett and Donny Osmond, I had the big chestnut pinned, stapled, taped or glued to every flat surface I could find. My pinup crushes were Red, Foolish Pleasure, Alydar and Ruffian.

Every year, the Kentucky Derby rolls around and every year I think, “I really ought to go,” and every year, I watch from home again. We have a party, complete with mint juleps and fancy hats, and more mint juleps, and food, and mint juleps, and on occasion, I even remember who won by the end of the day.

This year the stars all aligned and I get to check the Derby off of my bucket list. I got booted out of my weekend “job” because, for some weird reason, my friends and family don’t think I need to work seven days a week during the summer season. My middle son, Airman Ben, has kindled a long-distance romance with a girl who lives within spitting distance of Louisville and her mother has rolled out the red carpet for me. Or bluegrass carpet, anyway.

So, a free place to stay on a free weekend. And unlike Ireland, which holds the No. 1 spot on my bucket list, Louisville is only hours away and doesn’t require a passport. So, while I was still mildly miffed about losing the opportunity to wash dishes and sling hash over the weekend, I went online and ordered my ticket.

Just one.

This is going to be a “me” weekend, a rare bird indeed. No trips to the grocery store, no sacrificing my 20th viewing of “Pretty Woman” so someone else can watch his 200th viewing of “This Old House.” Three whole days of not having to listen to the whining and barking when the dog needs to be walked — the kid whining and the dad barking. The dog doesn’t say a word.

I know a lot of people can’t stand the thought of doing stuff like this alone, but that’s never bothered me. The second trip I took to New York, I stayed in a Lutheran hostel near the Bowery but hit the mean streets of Manhattan alone. I felt like I’d come home, and within two days of my five-day visit, I was giving directions to bewildered tourists, not asking for them. Soho, Chinatown, Chelsea … I was in heaven.

I don’t understand people who always have to have people around. I love to eat lunch by myself (although to be truthful, as long as my Kindle has power, I’m never alone).

While I love sharing many things with friends and families, there are some adventures I’d rather take by myself. It would be different if anyone in my family also was horse-crazy, but asking Terry to enjoy crowding into the paddock with me, unable to see anything other than the tops of everyone else’s hats, while vaguely listening to the thunder of hooves and the roar of the crowd is a lot like asking me to go to a woodworking tool expo and saying “ooh” and “aah” over the latest tungsten carbide router bits.

I’d do it — I’d go and I’d ooh and aah and I would be bored out of my mind. Terry may have learned horse lore from me simply through 30 years of osmosis and "Jeopardy!" questions, the same way I learned about tungsten carbide router bits, but he will never be “horse people.” He would be bored out of his mind and unlike me, he would be too polite to mention it.

Horse people — you know who you are. You watch the Rose Bowl Parade and wish those stupid floats would get out of the way so you could see the Pasadena Palomino Club. You have to choose between seeing your favorite musician or the Lipizzaner stallions and you don’t even hesitate. You stay up until 3 a.m. to watch Norman Dello Joio win a bronze in mixed jumping live from the Barcelona Olympics — when you have to be at work the next day.

I’m sure a lot of non-horse people go to the Derby simply because, well, it’s the Derby. I’m going for the horses and I want to go alone.

For a writer, these solitary adventures are fodder for the future. When you are by yourself, there is nothing to do but people watch uninterrupted, soak in the atmosphere, and maybe suffer a flat tire or a mugging, all of which will make great column material. Or a Crime Watch report, you never know. …

I’ll do a little of the touristy stuff, maybe even place a little bet (Zulu to win, woohoo!) and by the time I get home I will be sick of driving, crowds and mint-flavored bourbon. After four hours in the car by myself, I’ll be over that alone-time jonesing and ready to be working, nagging, always-available Mom again.

Until next year’s Derby, when the great mare Zenyatta’s second colt Ziconic should run. …

Reach Mary Reeves at 615-278-5109 or mmreeves@dnj.com. You can follow her on Twitter @MaryReevesDNJ.